


Like A Champ

by agentmarvel



Series: Two Sides to Every Medal [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Bronze (2015)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Comeplay, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Evanstan Rarepair Trashcan, Explicit Sexual Content, Gym Sex, Hand Jobs, Lance is fucking mouthy, M/M, Mild Face-Fucking, Mild Name-Calling, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rimming, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, and Steve is sick of it, brief breathplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-05-31 21:17:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6487705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentmarvel/pseuds/agentmarvel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lance Tucker has a mouth on him, and Steve is sick of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Steve

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing this kinda thing. Be gentle with me.  
> For Sam<3

Lance Tucker is an asshole. He’s an asshole, and Steve hates him. For three months, they’d been training at the same gym, and every time he came in, it took all of Steve’s self-restraint not to haul off and sock him right in the mouth.

God, that _fucking_ mouth… Those sinfully pouty lips always twisted into a cruel smirk, plump and pink. He’d always use just the tip of his tongue, slowly, deliberately, to wet them before speaking. Steve had lost count of just how many times he’d had to take an ice cold shower after training from thinking about the things that mouth could probably do.

But there was a problem with that mouth: nothing nice ever came out of it. Steve had always had a big problem with bullies, and that’s how he classed Lance. Tucker’s comments were always snarky and mean. He was a snobby, self-righteous prick who thought the world revolved around him all because he won a gold medal. Big deal, right?

Steve remembered the first time Lance came in. He strutted up to the reception desk like he owned the place. When informed that the gym was for top-notch athletes only, he whipped the sunglasses right off his face, shot a seething glare at the receptionist, and half-shouted, “Are you fucking kidding me? I’m Lance fucking Tucker. Gold medalist. 2004 Toronto Olympics. Is that _elite_ enough for you?”

And if that wasn’t enough, the little slimeball had to nerve to start criticizing the way Steve trained. Not even there for an hour and he was making a nuisance of himself.

“Keep your heels lifted.”

“Your stance is too wide.”

“Control your hips.”

 

*****

 

How in the hell he’d been roped into training _with_ Lance Tucker, Steve will never know…

He’s been mouthing off for the last hour, more so than usual, and Steve’s just about had enough. He’s tried to be patient, tried to keep his cool, but Lance just keeps pushing and pushing and _pushing_. He keeps criticizing Steve, pointing out all the flaws in his form (even if Steve’s not technically wrong, just trained in a different era), taking shots at the way he moves, and it’s like he wants to see what happens when Steve flies off the handle.

“Christ, Rogers. I’m not telling you again! Control your fuckin’ hips!”

That’s it. That’s all it takes. Steve can only be pushed so far, and this time, he snaps. He just snaps.

Before he realizes what he’s doing, Steve’s got Lance on the floor. He’s straddling the Olympian, knees digging into the mat on either side of him. The tips of his long, nimble fingers are digging into the soft flesh at either side of Lance’s neck, their faces are mere inches apart, hips pressed into each other, and for a second, Steve wants to fucking hurt him.

“You wanna run that by me again?” Steve growls out, pressing the heel of his palm just a little harder into Lance’s throat. His pupils are dilated so wide that there’s next to nothing left of that steely grey, and Lance, that fucking son of a bitch, literally _licks_ his lips, tracing the outline of that filthy, twisted trademark smirk of his. Damn it all if _that_ doesn’t go straight to Steve’s cock. He’s already painfully hard, as has become routine when that mouthy little fucker starts with his sass.

“I said,” Lance begins, voice straining beneath the weight of Steve’s hand. “Control your fucking hips.”

"Is this enough fuckin' control for you? Huh?" Steve grinds his pelvis down hard, pressing every inch of his length against Lance's thigh. There's nothing friendly about his tone anymore. Steve's so fucking sick of this kid. All he does is run his mouth, and someone needs to put him in his place. Lance lets out a breathy whine, and judging from the way his eyes roll back a little when Steve pressed into him, Steve would be the one to do it.

“You got a big fuckin’ mouth on ya, Tucker, an’ it’s only good for talkin’ shit.”

“You love it,” Lance cut back. He bites down on his lower lip, like he’s giving Steve a show, something to consider. “How about you get those fuck-ugly sweats off and let me show you what else I can do with it.”

Without saying another word, Steve surges forward, crushing Lance in a searing kiss. It’s fueled by every ounce of hatred in his body, burning him alive from the inside out. There’s nothing gentle about it, nothing loving or even remotely kind. It’s all teeth and tongues, and _fuck_ , Steve feels like a rabid animal. He desperately wants to tear into him, rip him to shreds. He wants to break Lance Tucker into tiny pieces and put him back together like a busted bottle.

Lance bucks his hips up. His hands are fumbling for the hem of Steve’s shirt, pulling at it until he rucks it up beneath Steve’s arms. All it takes is half a second for Steve to lean back, cross his arms, and pull the offending fabric off over his head. The static leaves his hair mussed and messy, but Lance’s hands are quickly tangling back into it, yanking him back down and just fucking _devouring_ him. It’s greedy, frantic, and when Lance’s lips part for him again, Steve licks straight into his mouth. That earns him a breathy little whine, and he can’t help but grin a bit.

After what feels like hours of the two of them battling it out, Steve reels back and stands in one fluid motion. Lance is left lying on the mat, looking a bit dazed.

“Get up,” Steve demands. When Lance hesitates, Steve puts more force behind it, raising his voice a few levels. “Get the fuck up, Tucker. ‘m not finished with you.”

Exhibiting the same speed and agility, Lance is on his feet and back in Steve’s face in two seconds flat. His hands land on the waistband of the larger man’s sweatpants, and he eagerly begins to tug them down. He’s nudging and pushing and walking Steve backwards, all while still managing to work the elastic band down around his thigh. Much to Lance’s surprise (evident by the look on his face), Steve definitely isn’t wearing anything beneath said sweats. There’s a wild glimmer in his eyes as he stares down at Steve’s dick.

“Forget your Depends today, old man?” Lance quips, cocking an eyebrow up at Steve. That smug son of a bitch…

“Gimme that look again an’ I’m gonna fuck it right off your face.” Lance does a bit of a double take before biting down on his lip again. That definitely got his attention in a hurry, and _oh my god_ , Steve really _actually_ wants to do that right now. Lance wears a new expression, one Steve hasn’t ever seen on him before, and it’s chalk-full of enthusiasm. Sure, he’s still wearing that up-to-no-good smirk, but there’s something genuine behind it now.

“Is that a promise?” _Fuck_ , even his _tone_ changed! For a second, Steve might’ve actually believed that Lance _isn’t_ some shitbag gymnast with a chip on his shoulder and a severe superiority complex. But, as anticipated, he opens his mouth again. “Don’t want you to break a hip or anything, Gramps.”

Steve growls again. Outright fucking growls and grabs Lance by the collar of his shirt. He slams the leaner man into the wall just behind the pair of them, leaning down until he’s not even half an inch from Lance’s lips.

“On your knees.” It’s just as cold and calculating as Steve meant for it to be. He definitely plans to fuck the look off this kid’s face now.

Lance doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t wait. He doesn’t stall. As soon as he gets Steve backed against the wall, he drops to his knees, placing sloppy, wet kisses across Steve’s thighs. There are only a few, and Steve’s already gathering a fistful of Lance’s flawlessly styled hair. Probably took him a good half an hour to style, and call Steve petty, but he just wants to fuck it up.

Grabbing his cock by the base, Steve gives it a few uneven pumps, flicking his wrist when he closes around the tip. He’s holding himself straight out like an invitation, imploring Lance to taste him.

“Open,” Steve commands, tapping the head of his cock on Lance’s lower lip. The tip of Lance’s tongue darts out, wiping away the dab of precome Steve left behind. He’s staring up at Steve, all doe-eyed and guiltless, looking through those dark lashes of his. Just barely, his lips part. He licks a stripe across Steve’s slit, gathering the newly formed bead of precome, and then he just swallows Steve halfway down. Steve can’t help but yelp in surprise, but that doesn’t seem to deter Lance. His mouth begins to coast along the soldier’s length, bobbing up and down; taking more and more of him until eventually Lance’s nose is pressed into his flesh. Steve can actually _see_ the outline of his head’s firm ridge every time Lance hollows out his cheeks, and he watches it slide back and forth, in and out of the stacked brunette’s mouth. It’s so… Fuck, it’s _so_ hot, and he doesn’t know how long he’ll last if he keeps watching, so he has to stop.

Pulling off with a wet pop, Lance takes to jerking Steve’s cock hard and fast. He kisses the head, kisses a line down Steve’s length, not stopping until he reaches his balls. Lance takes his time sucking one into his mouth, then the other, and Steve has his head thrown back, spewing out wanton groans. The tip of his tongue slides effortlessly over the seam between Steve’s balls, and he presses one finger into his perineum before fitting literally Steve’s entire dick back down his throat. That’s when Steve realizes that he completely unintentionally handed full control over once Lance got his mouth on him, and Steve is not okay with that. This is about punishment, about getting even, about getting him to shut his damn mouth.

Steve’s grip on Lance’s hair tightens. His hips cant forward, and _oh god_ , the gagging sound Lance makes spurs Steve to do it again. Again and again and again until he’s got a steady rhythm worked up. He’s holding Lance’s head as still as possible while he fucks into his mouth, and it’s merciless. It’s hard and fast and mean, and it’s perfect.

When he looks down at the slighter man, Steve immediately regrets it. His entire face is flushed. His plush, pink lips are sealed around Steve’s dick, and Steve can’t help but stare at the way his entire length disappears inch by inch into Lance’s mouth. It’s like he’s obsessed with the way Lance’s throat bulges out when Steve gets himself fully situated with Lance’s nose pressed to his pubic bone. And the kicker, the thing that almost completely does Steve in? Lance’s eyes are watering, a few stray tears dripping off his cheeks. He’s beautiful like this, and Steve almost blows his load on the spot.

To reign himself in, Steve squeezes his eyes shut. He inhales hard and lets out a groan, trying to think of anything and everything unsexy he can to keep from coming. Tony? No. Tony’s got a mouth on him too, and Steve would be lying if he said he hadn’t considered this as a solution for that. Puppies? Definitely not. Lance keeps looking up at him with that wide-eyed puppy-dog stare, and it just makes Steve want to fuck him harder. Baseball? Taxis? Strawberries? It doesn’t matter what word he comes up with, Steve’s mind keeps finding ways to turn it into an innuendo or a pun or something that relates to Lance as he is right now, and he can’t hold back anymore. This feels _way_ too fucking good and looks twice as good as it feels.

Steve barely croaks out a warning of “ _gonna come_ ” before he actually _starts_ coming. He’s pulled Lance back enough that he’s only holding Steve’s tip in his mouth, and as soon as the first drop hits his tongue, Lance is moaning like a greedy little fucking _whore_ , swallowing everything Steve’s willing to give him. It’s like he can’t get enough, because as soon as he realizes that Steve is finished, he’s tenderly lapping at the slit, trying in vain to get just a little bit more.

With the American hero starting to soften, Lance pulls off of Steve. He looks up, giving him a feigned look of innocence. As soon as Steve reacts, wondering if he landed Lance a little too roughly, Lance’s façade cracks. The corners of his lips turn up into a cruel smirk, and Steve’s probable face of concern falls.

“Probably not what you wanna hear,” Lance comments, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “But you don’t exactly taste like apple pie and freedom. Gotta say, Captain, I’m disappointed.” Taking half a step away from the wall, Steve hauls Lance to his feet and shoves him back up against the wall as he had him before. His palms hit the wall hard beside Tucker’s head, and Steve’s got him caged.

“An’ yet you still swallowed it all down like the dirty little cockslut you are, huh?” Oh shit. Shit, shit, _shit_. Steve didn’t mean to say that. Yeah, he was thinking it, but he didn’t mean for it to come out, and for a moment, he hesitates. How the fuck is Tucker going to react to this?

He whimpers. Honest to god fucking _whimpers_ and Steve has never felt so relieved in his life. Lance’s head rolls back against the drywall with a dull thud. Steve, with newfound confidence, wedges his knee between Lance’s thighs and drags it up to press against the tented fabric at the seam of Lance’s sweats. His erection hasn’t flagged whatsoever, and Steve can already feel himself starting to get hard again. _Damn this kid. Damn him and his stupid mouth_ , Steve thinks.

Taking one hand off the wall, he pushes Lance’s jacket and t-shirt up. Following, Steve hooks his fingers beneath the elastic band of Lance’s sweatpants, and he’s surprised that his fingers immediately meet skin. _Is he not wearing…?_

“You’re not the only one going all Howling Commando today,” Lance quips with less gusto than earlier after catching the look on Steve’s face. Steve’s only response is a low, throaty growl as he works the sweats down until Lance’s length is free, and – oh holy fucking _shit_ , Steve was not expecting what he saw.

Beneath his navel were three stripes, one red, one white, and one blue, all coming together to form a ribbon. They looped around, leading to a large gold medal inked just above his dick. There’s a sudden impulse for Steve to trace that entire thing with just the tip of his tongue until Lance is sobbing, shaking, begging Steve to just let him come already. But Steve refrains. He’s not about to let Lance get off that easily.

Lance’s cock is just as pretty as Steve’s anticipated: almost intimidating in width, admirable in length, a natural curve that fit into Steve’s palm like a puzzle piece. There is little overlap when Steve closes his fingers around Lance’s length. He starts pumping Lance’s reddened, leaking cock furiously, adding a flick and twist of his wrist as he closes in just beneath the crown.

It only takes a few seconds for Lance to allow his forehead to drop into the curve of Steve’s neck. His chest is heaving, he’s panting, whining, moaning. The blunt edges of his well-manicured fingernails bite into Steve’s shoulders, and Steve’s not sure when Lance grabbed hold, but he likes it. It’ll leave little red crescents pressed into his skin for an all-too-fleeting moment, and Steve knows he won’t forget what they look like. They’re strangely beautiful, and he wishes he could keep them.

“That all you got?” Lance croaks, voice muffled from being pressed against Steve’s collar bone. “Your arthritis acting up or something?”

Even in such a vulnerable position, of _course_ Lance would say shit like that… He’s already tense, already shaking. He’s getting close, so what else is Steve supposed to do besides give the bastard what he wants? Until Steve gets a rather nasty idea and Lance isn’t going to like this. He’s not going to like this at all, but if his earlier response was any inkling, he might just _really_ like this. Steve picks up his pace, jerking harder, faster, until he hears that tell-tale hitch in Lance’s throat, the half-hiccupped moan. He’s just about to come, and without any warning at all, that’s when Steve just stops. He takes his hands completely off of Lance and takes a slight step back.

The loud protesting whine that comes out of Lance is exactly what Steve wants to hear. He can feel Lance’s heart raging against his rib cage, pounding so hard it might just burst through. A litany of curses falls into the open air, and Steve can’t help but snicker.

“Fuck you,” Lance spits weakly, hitting Steve’s chest with the side of his fist. “You’re lucky I don’t beat the star-spangled shit out of you right now…”

Steve has to consciously fight to suppress a much louder laugh. He _almost_ feels bad when he looks down at Lance’s cock. It’s swollen, an angry shade of red. Precome is dribbling from his slit, and it looks like it might be starting to hurt a little. Some sick, twisted part of Steve enjoys this, though. He’s relishing in the fact that he’s doing this. He’s the reason Lance is shaking, whining, and _so fucking hard_ , and he loves it.

About that time, Steve realizes that he can give in to his former temptation. With Lance’s pants still around his thighs, there’s no preamble before Steve drops to his knees and begins to work those atrocious Team U.S.A. track pants down further. It’s more of just one swift tug, but either way, they end up pooled at Lance’s feet. He kicks them off, shoes following immediately after, though Steve is definitely considering how nice Lance would look in _just_ those expensive Nikes. Custom made and undoubtedly a part of his endorsement deal, but that doesn’t make Steve want to fuck him in them any less.

For the time being, though, Steve pushes that thought aside. That fucking tattoo is staring him right in the face, and he wants to find out if Lance’s cock tastes sweeter than his bitter attitude.

The tip of his tongue starts just below Lance’s navel, following the curved ribbon. It starts in quick, narrow stripes over each color, but it turns into long, slow, flat-tongued licks over the whole trio. One side is followed down to where the two sides meet before Steve switches to trace the other side. As soon as his tongue hits the top edge of the gold medal, Lance thrusts his hips forward, whining and pleading for Steve to do something.

“C’mon, Rogers, please… Oh fucking God, _please_!”

And Steve ignores him. If anything, he slows down, taking all the time he needs to trace the outline of the medal. He wiggles his tongue a little as he rounds the bottom, using his thumb to guide Lance’s hard-on downward just a bit to reach. By the time he’s finished memorizing that tattoo with his tongue, Lance is whimpering, whining louder, _begging_ for Steve to suck him off. Then, and only then, does Steve give him what he wants.

Like the absolutely fucking tease that he is, Steve starts off at the slit with tiny little kitten licks. He gathers Lance’s precome on his tongue and backs off, sticking it out to show Lance. When he gets a throaty groan in return, Steve swallows it down and pins Lance’s beautiful cock against his stomach. The flat of his tongue draws a wide stripe from base to tip. Steve flicks the tip of his tongue over the frenulum a few times, staring up at Lance all the while. It almost looks like he’s in pain with the way his nose is scrunched up. Those grey eyes of his are squeezed shut just as tightly, and his lips are just barely parted, allowing these harsh, ragged breaths to escape.

Steve settles the head between his lips, allowing the edges of his teeth to just barely brush the sensitive part where it meets the shaft. He spends a good minute at the very least exclusively sucking only on that section, just alternating between suction that could rival a god damn Dyson and just holding the tip in his mouth and humming. But that can only last so long before they _both_ need more.

Lance puts one hand on the back of Steve’s head, and Steve lets Lance guide him down further. It’s not demanding, not forceful, but it does seem to have a sense of urgency, which is why Steve stops about halfway down Lance’s length to give it the same treatment, but with one difference this time: he’s got his thumb and index finger wrapped tightly around the base, acting as a cock ring of sorts because Steve does _not_ want Lance to come. Not yet, anyhow. Not until his name is the only thing Lance is capable of saying, until there’s not another single thought in his head aside from Steve.

They go back and forth like this for a good ten minutes. Steve keeps teasing, and Lance keeps trying to get more. But once Steve hears that telling hitch in Lance’s breathing again, it’s over. Lance is immediately pleading again, this time without the insults.

“Please… Please, just…” He’s stumbling over his words, unable to get out a full sentence before starting over. His eyes are still shut, a full flush on his face, trailing his neck, and disappearing beneath the collar of his jacket. The lower half of his jaw hangs slack, mouth failing to close every time he tries. He’s still trying to catch his breath, stuttering out half-syllables and groans.

“Please what?” Steve goads, a smug grin crossing his lips. He knows full-well what Lance wants, what he _needs_. But Steve wants to hear it. Steve wants to hear Lance’s filthy little mouth beg for Steve to let him come. It seems to carry a reoccurring theme, the things Steve wants from Lance. At first, he wanted to shut Tucker up, but now? Now, he’s will to do whatever it takes just to hear Lance’s loud, irritating voice again.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t take much. All Steve does is wrap his arms around Lance’s hips, take a pert, rounded cheek in each hand, and just barely spreads them apart before the tip of his middle fingers rubs a little circle over that tight ring of muscle. The pressure alone gets Lance keening like no other, and he manages to get out just a handful of words.

“Fuck me, Steve… Please.” There are a few more expletives that follow, but Steve doesn’t hear any of them. He’s too caught up in the fact that Lance just called him by his first name. That’s never happened before, and Steve will give this man anything and everything he could possibly want as long as he says it again.


	2. Lance

Lance Tucker is an asshole, and he knows it. He takes such pride in seeing how far he can push people before they snap. Something about getting a rise out of someone really just does it for him. He enjoys pushing people’s buttons, and he enjoys watching them react. It’s just a great source of entertainment for him. The rise he usually gets is well worth whatever they dish back out. But Steve Rogers? Oh, Lance pushes his buttons because it’s fucking _hot_ when Steve gets angry. Like, _jerking off furiously after every training session_ hot. And the rise he gets out of Steve is so much better than Lance could’ve imagined.

When one thinks about Captain America, they tend to think of apple pie. They think of freedom, vanilla, bald eagles, all that shit. The man is a paragon of virtue, for fuck’s sake, an American hero. No one would even consider that the Star-Spangled Man with a Plan would have a mouth that’d put truckers everywhere to shame, and they definitely wouldn’t imagine him being two fingers deep in an Olympic gold medalist, working the man open while keeping him bent over a weight bench.

If there was one thing Lance learned from his antagonizing games, it’s that he should always keep lube and condoms in his duffle bag. He commended himself for not forgetting today, too. Or, at least, he would’ve if his head weren’t spinning out of control. Even the sound of his own thoughts is lost amongst the words falling from Steve’s lips. The praise, the reassurance, all the pet names (sweet and filthy alike), it’s all getting to him. His wrists twist and squirm against his lower back where Steve keeps them pinned. Sweat makes them a little easier to move, but Cap’s not letting up anytime soon. Lance knows that.

“Doin’ so good,” Steve murmurs behind him. “Wish you could see the way your pretty little hole is stretchin’ for me.”

With a whimper, Lance cranes his neck, trying to look for himself. He can’t see Steve’s hand, but he can see his face, and that’s good enough for him. Those big baby blues are clouded over, dark and stormy just like Steve’s voice. He looks so intently focused on the way his fingers disappear inside the man in front of him. If he were capable of forming actual words – instead of whining or whimpering or yelling “fuck!” when Steve’s finger nudges his prostate – Lance might’ve made an off-handed comment about Alzheimer’s.

Suddenly, he’s empty. Steve withdraws his fingers, and the sound that comes out of Lance is just something to mourn the loss.

“Steve… Steve, _please_ ,” he implores, dropping his forehead against the padding. He hears a cruel chuckle behind him as Steve releases his wrists and settles one hand on each of Lance’s cheeks, spreading them apart until Lance feels almost _too_ exposed. But underneath Steve’s heated gaze, Lance doesn’t really mind. He enjoys being the center of attention, and he loves it even more now that’s he’s the center of _Steve’s_ attention.

“Relax.” Lance’s hands find the edge of the bench, knuckles turning white under the tension of his hold. “I’m gonna give you what you need, baby.”

Before he has an opportunity to think, Lance feels Steve’s tongue prodding at the seam of his balls. Jesus Christ, he doesn’t know if he can handle this again. If Rogers starts sucking him off again, there’s no fucking way he’s – oh. _Oh_. That’s not what he’s doing, and it takes Lance longer than it should’ve to figure it out. Steve’s tongue just barely dips into him by the time he does, and right about now, he’s thanking God that he took such a long shower before coming in to work out.

He starts off slow with gentle kitten licks, like he’s trying to memorize every detail of what he’s feeling (or at least that’s what Lance is hoping for, since _he’s_ definitely not going to forget any part of this). The tortuous pace is maintained until Lance is squirming, trying to get just a little friction from the bench to take the edge off, and the soldier gets a bit craftier. Tracing the ring of muscle with his tongue, he swirls it around and around, playing with speed and depth. Each of Steve’s throaty groans sends a series of vibrations up Lance’s spine, dancing into his brain like a song he can’t forget. It flows perfectly with the symphony of sighs and moans Steve’s coaxing out of him.

Lance can’t help but think of a few choice insults, some tasteful, some not so much. He wants nothing more than to say something about how Steve’s eating his ass like a death row prisoner eats his last meal. Something to the effect of hoping he took his dentures out first. There are a few taunts lying on his tongue, but every time he tries, Steve’s tongue dips back into him, and he’s at a loss for words. Better to spare himself from looking stupid than to stutter out a few syllables and give up.

With his nose pressed to Lance’s tailbone, Steve is going at it like a pro. Between licks, he’ll take a few seconds to straight up tongue-fuck Lance’s ass, and then he’ll seal his mouth over the hole, kissing it almost lovingly before resuming his previous activities. By the time Lance has loosened up enough to take three fingers, he’s got Steve’s spit running down between his cheeks and his swollen purple cock is drooling on the mat beneath them.

“More… Steve, please, _more_ ,” Lance breathes out, rolling his hips back. He feels – rather than hears – Steve chuckle, and Steve pulls away, still keeping Lance spread wide open.

“You want more?” Frantically, Lance nods. Steve pushed one thick, long finger into him and curls it just so, stroking over his prostate. The medalist jolts forward, wheezing out a litany of _oh god, yes, fuck yes, Steve..._ , and Steve just chuckles again, adding a second finger and repeating. When he gets around to working in the third, Lance is writhing, bucking his hips back in a plea for mercy.

His cock honestly feels like it’s about to explode. It’s painful, heavy, aching and throbbing between his thighs. Every time he moves forward on the bench, looking forward to the little bit of friction he can find, Steve wraps his arm around Lance’s middle and pulls him back. They go back and forth like this (no pun intended) for no less than ten solid minutes before he feels Steve remove his fingers once again. And just like the last time, he whines.

It’s not a pleasant feeling, being empty, and Lance had no qualms about making his displeasure knows.

“N-Need your cock. Need you…” It’s weak. It’s pathetic. But it works. He hears the tear of a foil wrapped behind him, silence for a few seconds, and then the sound of Steve slicking up his dick with lube. The sound of Steve’s fist fucking over his dick is enough to get Lance pressing his thighs together. Oh, _fuck_ , he wants this. No, not wants… He _needs_ this. He needs Steve.

And Steve doesn’t waste any more time. No prelude necessary. Lance feels the thick, flared head of Steve’s cock breech his hole. It’s mildly uncomfortable, but Steve did such a good job working him open that it didn’t burn like usual. Odd, considering the good ol’ Captain’s better equipped than any of Lance’s past partners. Still, he’s actually kind of impressed with how well he’s taken him so far.

A little pop alerts Lance that the tip is fully situated inside him, and _oh God_ , he can feel every bulging vein on Steve’s length as it goes deeper, deeper, until the American icon’s hips are flush with Lance’s plump cheeks and he’s full. Fuck, he’s _so_ _full_. In his wickedest dreams, he never would’ve imagined he could take so much without literally being split in half.

Steve stills, a mouthful of groans and curses falling out as he leans forward, kissing a trail up Lance’s spine. When he reaches the top, Steve sucks a dark purple mark into the side of Lance’s neck, just below his hairline. No matter what he does, Lance won’t be able to cover it, and Steve knows that.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers in Lance’s ear, giving it a little love nip. “And I’m gonna fuckin’ ruin you.”

Somehow, Lance still has another witty comeback in his arsenal, and this time, he doesn’t stutter.

“Hope those bionic hips don’t fail you, old man.” That must have caught Steve off-guard. He grabs a handful on Lance’s messy hair and tugs his head back. His hips cant forward, burying him impossibly _deeper_ in Lance’s ass, and he lands a sharp, stinging slap on younger man’s left cheek.

“Any more smartass comments and I’ll finish myself off in the shower. Leave you here just like this. Is that what you want?” His voice was like honey, dripping off Lance’s skin. It’s deep, dark, raspy, but still carries an airiness to it that sent a chill, still sweet like a sugar cube. The sound of it is haunting, and Lance can’t form another word to answer, so he just shakes his head.

“Good boy,” Steve sighs, kissing the claiming mark he left behind. Lance returns the sweet sound and pushes his ass back. Rogers finally takes the hint and starts to move.

The pace he initially sets is more out of comfort than convenience. He’s being careful to make sure that Lance can actually take it all instead of just ramming into him. It’s actually kind of endearing, but Lance wants _more, more, more_. Like a spoiled child, he’s never satisfied, and it’s not enough. So, he starts fucking himself back on Steve, begging out broken pleas of _harder, faster, fuck, Steve, fuck me like you hate me_ , and Steve finally gives it to him.

He slowly withdraws until only the tip remains inside of Lance and then surges forward, filling him completely. Over and over and over, and Steve shows him no mercy. He’s got Lance screaming, crying out, a couple tears falling down his cheeks. It’s overwhelming how much his cock aches from being denied, but Steve feels so good inside him that he can’t help but beg him not to stop.

The tips of Steve’s fingers slide around Lance’s hip and move downward, circling around his length. It’s given a few rough, uneven pumps before Steve’s fingers clamp down around the base. Though Lance is screaming, begging Steve to let him come, secretly, he loves this. He loves having someone else in control. But he would never admit that. Not with all the spiteful things he’s saying every time Steve refuses him. It’s not really clear if he’s saying these things out loud until he feels another crack across his pert backside.

“Hate me all you want,” Rogers croons in his ear. “But ’m not lettin’ you come ‘til I feel like you’ve learned your lesson.”

“I have… Steve, I-I swear – oh, _fuck_ , right there!” Unconsciously, Lance shoves his hips back as Steve cants forward, and the edges of his vision blur for a moment. So deep. So so deep and it feels too god damn good. It’s too much and not enough at the same time, and Jesus Christ, he could get used to this.

“ _God_ ,” Steve sighs. “You take my cock like a fuckin’ champ, baby.” Lance gasps at the feeling of Steve’s fingertip tracing the rim of his hole. He’s expecting to feel more pull, a little burn as he takes a few of Steve’s fingers, too.

But he doesn’t get that. Steve just keeps talking, fucking him slow, but hard.

“You look so good all stretched out for me. An’ the way you keep sayin’ my name sounds so sweet… Makin’ me wanna dirty up that pretty, perfect back a’yours.”

“Y-Yes, please,” Lance stammers, rocking his hips back and forth.

“Oh, you like that?” Steve chuckles, kissing down the side of Lance’s defined jaw line. “You like it dirty, huh? Dirty, messy, _filthy_ …” Each word is aptly punctuated with another jarring counter-thrust from Steve. He meets Lance in the middle, flesh of his hips slapping against the meat of Lance’s ass. Steve groans loudly, animalistic and with renewed vigor, starts railing Lance again, letting the words fade into gasps and grunts.

For a few more minutes, Steve continues. Until his hips start to stutter, then he’s spitting a warning out to Lance, though still squeezing the base of the Olympian’s cock, refusing him the kind of relief Steve was about to get.

With no warning, Lance is suddenly empty again, and he fucking hates it. He hates not feeling Steve inside him anymore. But between his cries of protest, his pleas for Steve not to stop, he hears that beautifully slick sound again over Steve stroking himself, followed by the snap of the condom being taken off. Out the corner of his eye, Lance sees the latex sleeve land on the floor beside the bench.

Briefly, just briefly, Lance considers begging Steve to come inside him. It was easy to imagine the hot streaks decorating his insides, how even without Steve fully sheathed in his hole, he’d still somewhat feel full just with the knowledge that he’d been marked by Steve in a way would only mean anything to them. Hell, he was even wondering what it’d be like to have the Captain fill him over and over and over, then plug him up like a cork in a piggy bank until he’s ready to empty another load in his cute little ass. But this is not the time or place for that, and unfortunately, Lance _knows_ that.

Steve’s suddenly leaning up a little further, jerking himself off furiously. Lance can feel his knuckles grazing the dimple just above the cleft of his ass with every repeated motion. In the blink of an eye, Rogers is hunched forward over him, painting the planes of his back with come. A ragged breath is torn from Steve’s throat as he finally starts his descent from the newfound high, but _oh no, no_ he’s not done yet.

With the tip of his tongue, between hard, heaving exhales, Steve licks a few drops off Lance’s skin. He makes his way up the length of the slighter man’s spine, collecting every little spill before wrenching Lance’s head back again to share a sweaty, sticky, salty kiss. Just like the only other kiss they’d shared, it’s open-mouthed, rushed, heated. Yeah, Lance had tasted Steve once already, but tasting him on his own tongue spurred a new wave of need in Lance’s groin. He whimpered against Steve’s lips, begging in a whisper, “Please let me come…”

Steve hauls Lance to his feet, but his trembling legs barely support him

“Oh, m’not done with you yet,” Steve says passively, nonchalant. Lance glances down and realizes that Steve’s erection hasn’t flagged in the slightest, even though he just came all over Lance’s back. _That’s right,_ Lance thinks. _Super soldier. All the stamina. Goes all night._ So he raises a questioning eyebrow. “I want you to ride me.” Lance felt his insides clench. Oh god, yes, _yes_ , he’s definitely going to do that. He waits until Steve rolls another condom on (the bastard was planning this the whole time, so of course he grabbed two condoms…), slicks himself up nicely, and has himself propped up against the bench, leather already clinging to his sweat-soaked skin, and then helps Lance to straddle his hips. That white-knuckle grip comes back as Lance anchors himself on the edge of the bench. Steve’s thick head is pressed against his gaping asshole, and with a deep breath, he begins to ease himself down on it.

As he’s sinking down, he feels the same little sensations he felt the first time; the little pop of the head squeezing back in, the ridges of every vein, the slickness of lube and spit between his spread cheeks. Just thinking about it is almost enough to make him come all over Steve’s stomach _right_ _now_.

What really gets to him, though, is the look on Steve’s face. He’s got his lower lip trapped between his teeth, biting it so hard it looks like it’s about to bleed. A light sheen of sweat dusts his angular face, and a rivulet runs down his temple to his neck (not gonna lie, Lance _really_ wants to lick it off). His bright blue eyes are abnormally dark, pupils blown wide open. Hair is sticking up in every direction, and he still manages to look like absolute perfection. If Lance didn’t know any better, if it weren’t his dick speaking for him, he might say he’s in love.

A few grunts and groans guide Lance the rest of the way down until his ass is flush with Steve’s thighs, and once fully seated, he wastes no time getting started. Slowly, he begins to work his hips up and down in a steady rhythm. Every few bounces, he’ll stop – with Steve fully inside him – and grind down on him, alternating between figure eights and spirals that start wide but narrow towards the end. Steve’s got his head thrown back, spitting out every curse known to mankind and a few that probably aren’t. He keeps squeezing Lance’s hips like the safety bar of a rollercoaster, sure to leave a few finger-shaped bruises behind.

“Fuck,” Steve pants, dropping his forehead against Lance’s chest before running one hand down his thigh. He gives it a gentle squeeze and groans loud. “Don’t… Think m’gonna last much longer if y-you – ah, _shit_! – keep that up…”

Lance chuckles inwardly until he feels Steve’s teeth scrape over his nipple. Steve takes it between the rows, licking and suckling at it, all the while gripping Lance’s thigh like it was the only thing keeping him centered and in the moment. Lance, however, occupies himself by clawing up Cap’s defined back as he picks up the pace, taking extra pleasure in the way the man responds by thrusting his hips up and groaning between his clenched teeth.

If he could win a medal for Best Cockslut, Lance would be a shoe-in for the gold.

With as much effort as his body will afford him, he works Steve’s cock hard and fast. The roll of his hips, the way their chests rise and fall harshly in tandem, how Steve reaches so deep inside him that he thinks he can practically taste all the precome. It’s good. It’s so good. But it could be better if Steve would just fucking touch him already.

The ridge of Steve’s head glides over that spot inside of Lance that makes his whole torso curl forward. Droplets of his sweat fell against Steve’s broad, porcelain shoulder. If he could hear anything but static, he’d realize that he’s practically screaming in Steve’s ear when he _keeps_ hitting that spot. Steve’s no dummy. He knows _exactly_ how to angle himself if he really wants to get Lance screaming, and that’s _exactly_ what he’s doing.

But Steve finally sneaks a hand between their bodies and takes a hold of Lance’s length once again and starts pumping it fiercely, still nailing that spot with every pass.

“C’mon, dollface,” he coos. “Come for me.”

Squirming while Steve fucks up into him, Lance loses any control he may have maintained from the start. Every ounce of restraint is out the window, and it only takes a few more strokes before he feels his balls drawing up high and tight. He’s keening and moaning and whimpering, tears pricking the corner of his eyes as he finally feels a pinch of relief. After being refused so many times, Steve’s finally asking him to come, and he barely croaks out a warning before the first spurt splatters against Steve’s chest.

Rope after rope covers the planes of the man’s solid muscles. It feels like it’s never going to end with how much he’s been built up and deconstructed. It hurts, but it hurts so _good_. No one’s ever pushed him this far before, but he hopes to high Heaven that Steve’s willing to keep pushing, test those limits.

One last surge shoots up, landing on the underside of hero’s chin. It drips down into the hollow of his throat, and Steve licks his lips, and _fuck_ , it’s so hot, Lance could probably come again just from that.

Picking up his pace from beneath and absolutely fucking drilling Lance, Steve doesn’t relent. He doesn’t let up in the slightest. If anything, he fucks him harder, deeper, faster. The rhythm stays consistently brutal, and Lance whole-heartedly meets every thrust halfway. He’d never come so hard in his life, never felt so good, and he wasn’t about to let Steve leave with anything less than the same feeling.

The spasming of Lance’s walls around him must’ve really gotten to Steve. Within seconds, the movement of his hips becomes erratic, unpredictable, wild. His depth falters, going for more shallow thrusts and louder pants.

“That’s it…” Lance sighs airily, tilting his head back. “Come for me, Stevie. Show me who gets the last word.”

He’s not sure if it’s the nickname or that final comment, but he hears a telling hitch in Rogers’ breathing, followed by a low, deep groan of satisfaction. There’s a twitch inside his fluttering asshole, and Steve’s head flies back against the bench. His mouth is wide open in a silent scream, eyes scrunches shut and nostrils flared. Sweat trickles down the side of his neck, body glistening and glowing. His upward motions still as he fills the condom with yet another load.

A moment of silence falls between them before Steve chuckles, draping his arms over Lance’s thighs.

“That pretty little ass of yours is gonna be all kinds’a red, white, and blue tomorrow. Gonna be sore as all hell, too. Remember that the next time you decide to smart off to me.” Lance snorts inwardly, laying his head in the crook of Steve’s neck.

“I’ll smart off more often if this is what I get.” Heartily again, Steve laughs, vibrations reverberating in Lance’s chest. “Start with this one: I’m not the only one with a gold medal on my dick anymore.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments would be great!<3
> 
> Harass me on tumblr: @sebeefstianstan


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